Page 128 of Chasing the Wild
He looks so fucking gorgeous, and now all I can think of is the fact these women have been staying up the mountain with him. They’ve been to the cabin where I watched him climb a ladder while hammering nails. Where we tangled together in the hot spring. The place where I left my heart bundled in those soft blankets in front of the fire.
It’s impossible to look away. Even though I sniffle back hot tears, I can’t stop myself from going down the rabbit hole. I’m clicking into their accounts one by one, discovering more photos that document the entirety of this group’s time spent at Devil’s Peak Ranch.
Then, the worst part of all. There’s a picture of all the girls—it must be taken in the evening—and they’re in the hot spring together, each wearing the tiniest of bikinis. The kicker…the real punch to my gut is the caption, which says, ‘Thank you for showing us all such a good time, Colt,’followed by a string of heart-eye emojis.
That’s the point I crumble. Right then is the moment it becomes all too much for me, and I swipe out of the app with shaky fingers.
I feel nauseous. Colt was up there with this group of centerfold models.
The worst part of all, is that he has absolutely no reasonnotto be with someone else. He’s not mine. Not my property. Not my cowboy.
Tears roll down my cheeks as I bring up the website for the ranch. Exactly as with the social media account, it hasn’t been updated in forever. The only new details to be seen are the availability and booking rates for the current summer season.
Sprawling across the top of the screen is a gorgeous panoramic photo taken on a summer’s evening, showcasing the ranch drenched in honeyed golden light, with a vista of horses grazing and a scattering of wildflowers. The same sight which greeted me that fateful day when I crested the final ridge and drove onto Devil’s Peak Ranch for the very first time, looking for Kayce.
It’s the exact view I stared at all winter from the kitchen window, only when I used to look at it, the place was covered in a snowy blanket. When I used to make coffee for the two of us as dawn crept over the mountain.
With the heel of my palm, I swipe the wetness off my cheek. Why am I bringing this webpage up? What am I even doing? Missing Colt like I didn’t know was even possible, and desperate to somehow get in contact with him, that’s what is going on.But what can a girl in my position hope to achieve by looking through the meager scatterings of information provided for the ranch?
There’s a business email address listed. An automated booking calendar.
No, Layla. There is nothing for you here.
After all this time, Colton Wilder is not interested in receiving a feeble little email from me, just because I’m heartbroken and have convinced myself that he’s been busy fucking his way through a bevy of ranch tourists for the past five months.
What I do have, is a job to get ready for tomorrow. Graduation in a week’s time. The prospect of looking for a permanent position somewhere once I’m qualified.
That is my life. That is my reality.
And I need to snap the fuck out of this pathetic spiral of being addicted to Colt.
So, instead of doing the one thing I so desperately want to do, I lock the screen on my phone and roll onto my side.
My fingers reach out to brush over Colt’s hat, sitting beside my pillow in the spot that allows me to cling onto the tiniest fragment of my cowboy. If it’s there, I can at least pretend he’s watching over me at night. Waking up and seeing it feels comforting somehow. Or maybe it’s just masochistic behavior, I don’t know and don’t really care anymore.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I stroke the brim.
“You don’t owe us anything, Miss.”
I blink furiously at the mechanic standing beside my car. It felt like the longest wait ever sitting outside in Kayce’s truck until the moment the workshop lights flickered on and they opened for the day. Then, when I walked in, hoping they wouldn’t question my puffy reddened eyes, they took one look at me and handed the keys over.
“But… the parts… the work you’ve had to do?” I stammer.
“All settled up already.”
“That’s not possible.” Rummaging in my purse, I grab my wallet. Surely this guy has got my account mixed up with someone else’s shitty little car they’ve been repairing.
“Nope, she’s all squared away.” He sips his coffee and gives the hood an affectionate thump with his fist. “Good as new. She’ll get you wherever you’re off to bright and early this morning.”
“There’s been a mistake. The car is registered to Layla Birch.” I continue to pull out my debit card. At least I know the state of my bank account is far healthier than when I first arrived here in Crimson Ridge. Whatever these repairs cost, they might drain every last dollar of savings I’ve accumulated while working at the ranch, but since I’ve had weeks without needing to pay for living expenses, I’ve got a bit of a cushion now—for the first time in forever—that I’m sure will cover the bill.
The mechanic shakes his head again. “That she is, Miss. I know you might not have had a chance to grab a coffee yet this morning, considering how early it is, but I promise the full account is all settled.”
I’m gaping like a trout.
“Colton had it all paid for a fair few weeks ago. Said it was ready for you to collect any time you were in town next.” He opens my driver’s door for me and ushers for me to get inside. “He did mention that you might try to pay for it, but wanted to remind you about something to do with your overtime clause and paying off vehicle repairs out of the extra hours worked up at the ranch.”
I run my fingertips across the flat of the brim once more, recalling the morning after I left Devil’s Peak Ranch and arrived to collect my car.
